


Perfect for you

by anonymousorly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dinner Date, F/M, Fingerfucking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Smut, cat cockblocker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21537766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousorly/pseuds/anonymousorly
Summary: He remembers all the dates and boys that left her frustrated and used, storming as a teenager up to her room when she got home and snide sarcasm as an adult when asked.(Harry visits Gemma and knows how to take care of her)
Relationships: Gemma Styles/Harry Styles
Kudos: 31





	Perfect for you

The first thing Harry does when he gets home is visit Gemma. He originally wanted her to be waiting for him at his house but she declined, couldn’t have her brother thinking she was a puppet like much of his entourage these days. He lets himself in to the smell of potpourri and her favorite beachside candle, finds her curled on the couch with phone in hand and Cat by her feet. She smiles when he appears from around the corner, hands bare from their usual rings and bracelets and in sneakers rather than his usual oxfords. This is her Harry, the one she loves and knows.

She scoots up so he can sit behind her, ankles sliding around either side of Cat, and rests back against his side.

He remarks at the match on television, “Thought you had given up on Stoke?”

“Yes, well, what would you have me do?” Her head falls back, looking at Harry upside down. “Jump on the Liverpool wagon?”

“Never.” She smiles again as he leans down to softly kiss her. “Of course, I’d support you in whatever decision you make.”

“You’re awful.” He kisses her again, teasing her lips with his tongue, and she whimpers, shaking her head. “Nope, no, you promised dinner first.”

He whines. “But–”

“Are you breaking your promise, Harry?”

His heart flutters at how she says his name, how her neon pink nails comb through his hair, how beautiful she looks gazing brightly at him. He just really wants to ruin her, is that so bad?

He tails her and Cat to her bedroom, insisting she looks fine in her loungewear and doesn’t need to change. She gives him a glance, one that means his words are useless on persuading her, and he jumps on the bed next to Cat, shutting up.

She strips to her undergarments, black sports bralette and boxer panties because she’s never cared for wires or lace, and he gapes at her as she sifts through her clothes rack. “You’re taunting me.”

“I’m changing,” she corrects though with a smirk, pulling two long floral dresses by their hangers and spins around. “Pastel or yellow?”

He examines the pink nails then the flowy dresses, gauging the colors before considering the waist shape and neck lines. Not that it mattered, she rocked everything she wore. “Pastel.” He licks his lips. “No bra.”

She tilts her head at him. “Harry.” Her nipples will subtly poke the fabric, they both know this, but his eyes are pleading, wants this from her like he wanted her at his house when he came from the airport. She caves, can’t say no to him this time.

They both use the restroom before heading out, Gemma appreciating his Lincoln hybrid SUV. “How many virginities did you shag away back there?” she jokes.

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer, which would actually be two, one boy and one girl. He’s not ashamed, Gemma finds it all equally funny and intriguingly sexy, but he asks about her beauty blog, prefers to hear her voice rather than his own. Maybe he’ll tell her later, if he remembers.

They go to dinner at “their spot,” a too expensive steakhouse with a £50 cheese platter and a German rosé wine that Gemma absolutely loves. They sit at a large round booth in the corner, under a large landscape painting and dim lighting so no one can clearly recognize Harry Styles. Usually one of their favorite two or three waitstaffs is working, those who take and deliver their order and leave them alone unless Harry waves at them, and today it’s Katie, who brings an open rosè bottle and two glasses immediately to their table.

“Watch out for this one, Harry,” Gemma jests as Katie fills her flute, “this is a woman after my heart right here.”

“Mine, too.”

Their legs intertwine beneath the table, long enough that they can keep space between them though it will inevitably disappear. They revel in silence for a while, watching each other and sipping wine. It’s a comfort they’ve always shared, one they have with nobody else, and it’s so nice to escape into.

After the cheese appetizer arrives, Harry touches her cheek, brief and tender. “Have you been thinking of me?”

“Absolutely not,” she deadpans, lathering a biscuit with sweet cheese spread, eyes glistening. His brow lifts just barely as she covers his hand between them. “All those selfies and clip vids were definitely not sent with you in mind whatsoever.”

He grins, biting his bottom lip as he recalls one of his favorite messages. “I especially adored the one with your friends in Cannes.”

She had been on a yacht with her friends, stretched out in a sexy cutout one-piece and round sunglasses under a large straw hat and clear blue sky. She pulled out from her beach tote the small vibrator Harry had gotten her and when she put it in, the hand holding her phone tugged the suit’s bottom aside and consequently got a close-up of the humming toy disappearing into her pussy. She wore it for a while, keeping composure as friends came by to offer water and small talk, and quietly orgasmed with a whisper of his name.

She chuckles. “I knew you’d like that one.”

They almost clean the whole platter by the time their steaks arrive, wine half empty and Gemma starved for some real substance, real meat. Harry will always be impressed at how she can scarf down a petite sirloin.

“Did you remember to send little Robbie something for his birthday?” she asks before taking her first bite.

“I did,” he confirms, slowly shaking his head, “thanks for those twelve reminder texts by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

They eat and finish the wine in silence, feet every so often tapping in unspoken conversation about their contentedness of these moments. Gemma sometimes forgets how easy it is being with Harry, how being with her brother is truly the easiest thing in the world.

“It’s amazing,” she starts, final chews then swallowing, “how this place always gets everything perfect.”

His words tumble on their own, “You’re perfect,” and they both blush the same tint of red; hers from flattery and his from honesty.

“Perfect for you,” she predictably recites and Harry laughs because, in his eyes, she can do no wrong, she _is_ perfect. She slides closer to him, whispers, “And you’re perfect to me.”

He melts inside and she kisses him light but quick, noses brushing before pulling back. She puts his hand on her knee, again whispers, “I’m not wearing any…” trailing off.

Harry gulps, her skin burning under his palm. He wants to ask what she means, thinks he already knows, and decides to find out for himself. Their eyes locked, he traces up her thigh and under her dress hem, short hairs normally concealed now exposed. “Christ,” he breathes, skims over her wetting lips. “I’m going to completely wreck you when we get back.”

She sighs when he dips a fingertip inside of her, the smallest of intrusions, and gently squeezes his hidden hand. “You always do.”

“Or maybe I’ll do it now.” He slowly pushes into her and curls a knuckle, thumb pressing the top of her clit, and she bites her bottom lip hard, focuses on keeping quiet and still. Their eyes never stray. “No,” he breathily laughs, “no one gets to see me getting you off except me. Know why, Gem?”

“Cuz I’m yours,” she instantly answers, squirms when Harry pulls out and instinctively opens her mouth to suck the salty digit clean.

Harry doesn’t bother with the bill, leaves three or four hundreds on the table, maybe even six, he doesn’t care, it’s more than enough to cover and graciously tip. Gemma half-heartedly protests about her leftover cauliflower and wanting a mocha latte for dessert but he presses her against the car door, kissing her hard and hand again rubbing up her dress. “Call on the drive back and I’ll pick it up for you later.”

Her heart drops at his generosity, his willingness to make her happy in any possible way. She doesn’t call at first, she _was_ joking after all, until Harry dials for her, holding the ringing cell out to her. He really treats her too well, she thinks.

Cat is passed out on her bed when they walk through the door, belly-side up and snoring, but it doesn’t hinder their plans, Harry leading her to the couch where he found her and pulling them both down with laughter. He sits upright and she situates on his lap, a familiar position of his arms trapping her close to his body and her relaxing thoughtlessly against him, nose pressing on his neck and inhaling pure raw _Harry_ like a drug that makes her unravel.

“Delightful as ever, you are,” she somewhat slurs – yes, with help from the wine but – an overall intoxication of comfort. She doesn’t need to be anything or anyone for her brother, doesn’t need to pretend or prove (like she sometimes does) that she’s different because _she. is._ His presence is almost her own second body and she knows what that knows, what _he_ knows, a second skin. “You’re too good to me, love.”

Harry chuckles, hands splayed over her thighs, and nips gently at her earlobe, whispers, “Ain’t even started.” He kisses down the side of her neck, voice low, “Spread for me, Gem.”

And she obeys, loose legs falling apart so her genitals are open, and he exhales heavily, moist breath tickling her nape. “Goddess.” She shivers at both the sentiment and his feather-light touches nearing her sex, mouth hovering above hers. “An absolute goddess among unworthy men.”

He remembers all the dates and boys that left her frustrated and used, storming as a teenager up to her room when she got home and snide sarcasm as an adult when asked. 

“Unbiased opinion?” she feebly challenges, Harry kissing her and stroking her mound teasingly. She lets herself go, as he intends, half-closed eyelids and thoughts turned off, processing only the touches on her skin: Harry’s breath ghosting her chin, his loose parted lips brushing hers, the lightest and slowest of stimulation rousing a warm desire deep in her chest, his soft palm caressing one of her breasts.

One night, she asked him if that’s how it’ll always be: having to suck dick before she rides them, on her knees doing all the work, with her face then legs, as he stands there then lies flat, and getting no reward. He was sickened at how anyone could treat her that way, stunned at how anyone given the chance could resist worshipping her body. It doesn’t take much for him or any male, any of the assholes she’s been with, to get off and since that day, he’s made it his life’s mission to please his sister, anyway, anyhow.

He doesn’t hurry, takes his time with every part of her body because he can, it’s all his. He knows how to tend to her, knows how to work her up and get her off. He sees the female orgasm (Gemma’s, at least) as a volcano, pressure building, unrushed movement, until it can’t anymore, tremors for release, and erupts.

He made sure he was different. Was he _truly to the core_ different? He couldn’t really say but he does know, for a fact, he’s paid her more attention than anyone else…and he feels that it’s still not enough to what she deserves.

He starts with the minimum, easing her to drift away from herself and allowing him to please her. His tongue licks hers only after her breathing audibly deepens, controls the pace by separating their mouths if she gets too eager or slowing the motions of his hands. He doesn’t have her where he wants her until her jaw slacks and tongue rolls fully over his, an acceptance for his lead to follow.

“My darling,” he so quietly mutters, peace-sign fingers rubbing her outer lips before turning to just barely push between. She hums from the back of her throat and releases an erotic sigh, head falling to rest on his shoulder and again inhaling pure raw Harry.

He follows her folds, spreading the lubrication which also coaxes for more, tweaks her nipple gently to prepare the sensitive skin for contact. She arches forward slightly, bust pushing out, and he easily pulls her back against him. He’s got her where he wants her.

He grazes over her clit, wettens and acknowledges it, and she groans blissfully. He circles inside her just passed his nail, runs up and down her crease, and feels her heartbeat speed up, breathing still deep but a little louder. He seals their lips, hers wide open inevitable to dry her throat, and pushes his tongue all around her mouth not only to arouse her but to protect that arousal, one cough or tickle enough for disruption.

His finger bends to ease his push inward and she mewls against his neck at the delicate stretch. He stares at her face, watches her fluttering lashes as her hips so subtly rock forward and he obliges, finger disappearing and curling to her sweet spot, just a slight touch that has her gasping. He pulls out enough to comfortably wiggle – brushing her wet sensitive folds – a second finger.

“Harry.” The word floats from her lips like butterfly wings, wisping across his nose. He licks her bottom lip, caresses down her sternum, hand moving tactfully that his knuckles barely shift her dress as he’s under it. She moans long and low, tongue meeting his briefly. “My Harry.”

He thumbs her clit and she curses quietly. Teeth scraping behind her ear, he fucks her painfully slow until she claws at the couch, her subconscious indication to him for more. He sucks on her neck in promise that he’ll make it so fucking good for her.

Steady palm anchored, he gradually speeds up as does her lustful consumption. He pounds into her, incoherent nonsense dripping from her mouth, then rubs her clit intently, presses light and presses hard. Her whimpers turn into cries, pleas, “Fuck me, oh god.”

Her legs quiver, grinding hips erratic, and bites, _latches_ , his neck fucking hard, shouting out her orgasm as it dominates her to oblivion. He freezes except for her clit, the trigger to her finish, and stops when she sobs, limp in his arms and releasing his neck. Sweat on his forehead and cock hard, he keeps watching her and when she licks her lips before opening her eyes, he gives a shaky smile, also coming down from a high. “Absolutely perfect.”

She arches up for him and he kisses her softly. “Only for you, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> ohlortwhathaveidone
> 
> ###  **kudo, bookmark, comment, subscribe :)**


End file.
